


Wyverns of Carrion Gulch

by WinryDontShoot



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Canon, Being Lost, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Risen (Fire Emblem) - Freeform, Separation, Wyverns, bad things happening, fire-forged friendship, instinctive heroism (thanks Lucina), masked Lucina - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 09:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinryDontShoot/pseuds/WinryDontShoot
Summary: After Emmeryn's death, Lissa is at her lowest point emotionally. In a frightening turn of events, she is separated from the rest of the Shepherds, into a wilderness populated by curiously-strategic wyverns. Lissa struggles to process her grief while she has only "Marth" as her company for an extended period of time. It just might turn out that Marth needs her company too.





	1. An Unsettling Vision

**Author's Note:**

> I finally figured out what I wanted to write based on FE:A! Thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for a LONG time and now I’ve figured out a… very specific set of circumstances. The desire for more masked “Marth,” and Lissa development, and… well. Let’s see where this goes, shall we?

Lissa knows that she is not quite a prisoner of war here, but a guest of honor in a very twisted sense. She clutches her hands close to her chest and her face as she follows close behind King Gangrel in the palace-ways of Plegia. Grody stone arches swoop overhead, slow and menacing as they pass over. Flickering torches cast long shadows behind the Mad King and his sole charge here in this place. Lissa's boots continually tap over large mason-brick, and she loses track of her thoughts, her mind, forgetting even to be afraid of the stooped-forward form quickly plowing the way before her, his head bent low, his hands writhing together, a sickening snicker rising up, slowly twisting Lissa's stomach as his voice, with all its potential to be a booming taunt, instead contorted into that vile, shrill under-the-breath giggle --

Lissa passes war halls, banquet halls, places of weapons and tomes, and places to die. The stairways spiral upwards, the decoration is grandiose in bright yellows and purples, and -- there she sees it -- what way Plegia has in a royal crest, though she has never seen it before now -- the forms of a vulture and a hyena --

Lissa does not know to be afraid.

She does not wonder why she is here. She does not even wonder where Chrom is. She is certain of one thing only: that she needs to see whatever Gangrel is going to show her.

Abruptly, Gangrel seizes Lissa by the wrist. Lissa yelps.

"Are you ready?" Gangrel snarls, halting before magnificent oak double-doors. “Are you ready to see my most magnificent of possessions?"

Lissa nods emotionlessly.

"Alright," Gangrel growls, simpering lovingly, folding his hands together. "I do think you will enjoy it!"

Lissa is allowed into Gangrel's room. Servants part way. She steps forward, around a settee, towards the magnificence of Gangrel's flickering fireplace, and warm flames that cast shadows upon the shag rug, and various heads of hunted beasts mounted along the walls --

There! Gangrel's greatest war trophy -- he mentioned he'd do this, didn’t he?

Lissa remembers what it is now -- she remembers, faintly, a few of the events of the past days -- she remembers the burning, aching hole in her heart -- she remembers that she has not laughed for days -- she remembers that she will never, ever be the same --

She makes out the face of that human form, stuffed and rigged upright, features calm and divine even in death. Lissa, for the first time, stands before the corpse of her sister.

The world shatters. Her environment, broken glass –

Lissa cannot scream, cannot even speak –

And there is Gangrel's guffawing, engulfing the surroundings!

There is Lissa, losing her countenance, her strength, her will, as she desperately tries to move her frozen limbs –

She doesn't want to look at Emm like this -- but she can't get away! She can't move, can't blink, can't -- can't turn her head -- close her eyes-- nothing --

At last she gives a piercing wail, which startles her awake.

"Lissa! What happened? Is anyone there -- oh, just you -- is there a bug in your sleep-roll? I'll help you--"

Lissa's eyes flutter. Her arm clamps over her waist. She sits upright, and her gaze rests on Robin for an instant, before she glances aside to the figures in the background -- she sees Maribelle close by, concerned and with a certain sad surety in her frown -- and behind her, Sumia, pulling herself out of her bedroll but not reaching out to her just yet.

"I'm fine," Lissa says, wiping away but a tear. "It's nothing."

Robin sits down close by. She brushes a hair out of Lissa’s face -- and then, after just an instant's deliberation, lays a warm hand upon Lissa's shoulder. "I know these aren't happy times. If you ever want to talk, know that I’m here for you.”

"And me, of course," Maribelle says, laying her hand on Lissa's other shoulder.

"And me!" Sumia pipes up. "I-- er-- if you trust me enough -- I'm not really good with these things, but -- I want to help you, if I can!"

Lissa sighs and it turns into a bout of sniffling. One grunt of her nose, and she swallows back most of the mucus.

She rises. "I can't do this right now," she says. “Don't we need to march?"

Robin's eyelids lower. "I'm afraid so. You're very prudent, Lissa -- I hope we get some calm after this next battle. It's hard to fight, after... well, it's been a blow to everyone's morale. Especially..."

Robin doesn't finish her sentence. Lissa gets it. Everyone knows it's hit her hardest -- her and Chrom.

"My dear," Maribelle says, "the nightmares will leave you. They shan’t pale your countenance so, after you have been awake for a time -- come, let us prepare to march."

The shadow remains over Lissa. The day is a blur of sorrow and grey -- Lissa's heart continually returns to that unfinished sentence. The closure that only Emm can ever provide.

She feels nothing. She does not even know to complain. Nobody bothers her or pulls her out of it; she walks in a trance in the center of the line, and is flanked by wagons, companions, and their horses; her own horse, Chestnut, bears a load of rations. 'Twould be a relief if Lissa could ride upon his back now and lose herself in the warmth of his muscled neck, allowing herself to slip into a reverie, not quite sleep. Lissa thinks she never wants to sleep again, but if she never has to exert herself again, that would be very good indeed.

Chrom. Chrom is a solid face, beside the fire that night. He is stern, and communicates very little but to discuss thoroughly with Robin what tactics they will employ. Robin is an ocean of calmness in these times, and she returns some of Lissa's attention with sympathy, her hood lowered, her shoulders relaxed, even apologetic. Lissa just wants to hug her, but she can't move at all, and sits slumped now against Chestnut's resting side.

After Robin turns in for the night, and Lissa watches her go slowly, regretfully away, Chrom sits isolated. He is reposing, his face resting in one hand.

Lissa can help no more the powerful urge that has been building in her heart. She runs to him and collapses in his arms and lets him hold her tight against him. For the first time since they were very, very young, Lissa hears him cry.

It isn't exactly a happy memory, but when Lissa goes to bed, regretful and afraid, she at least feels that maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to face the day tomorrow.

It is a battle of pouring rain and perilous cliffs.

There is slaughter on the road before them -- Lissa sees the barbarians, cut down on the front lines -- the obstacles in the way of vengeance --

Things start to go wrong.

There is something different, about this battle. A difference in the behavior of the Risen -- an order to their senseless chaos -- and there, in the glints of their eyes –

A sharpness greater than mere bloodthirst --

Behind them, in the distance -- Lissa sees a snarling, snapping form -- a winged creature that stands upon two legs and towers over its legion.

Lissa cries out as she clutches her staff. What is this feeling? What is happening -- over the course of the battle, she knew that they were being driven up the mountain -- yet she does not remember this level of swirling sleet and icy blast -- she feels as if something has happened that was not supposed to --

Lissa is alone.

She sees it clearly. The lordly wyvern and its fleet of Risen -- their design, to separate the healer from the pack -- Lissa doesn't know why! She sees what has happened, but -- what caused it -- why her --

The glint of crimson eyes in sunken wyvern skin. Lissa is backing away, towards a cliff -- she sees darkness below -- a shadowy plain of snow -- the fight has dragged on for a day, she doesn't understand what's happening -- and she doesn't understand what will happen to her.

The Risen part in two blocky paragraphs, making way for that sharp scaled form.

It growls, "You will be the one that helps me."

Lissa feels cold sweat upon her skin. Now it's talking. Now it's TALKING -- this is unbelievable, _unheard_ of --

Lissa tears her eyes from the unimaginable sight. She jumps down from Chestnut.

"Go to Chrom," she says. "I mean it, GO!"

And Lissa leaps from one darkness into another – away from an army of bizarre stature, and into the cold isolation of the long valley beneath.

Lissa is rolling.

Her corpse deflects off grey crags. Her side is punctured by wild sharp branches. Her arms are raised futilely over her head.

Barren trees and endless black sky pass over head in a daze of injured panic --

Until at last, she lay still, and to nightmares she returns.


	2. Savior from the Unknown

Her cruelest nightmares feature no beast. No mad king, no loss, no emptiness of her heart -- no, none of these things to remind her what the world is.

Instead she remembers only the way things once were. Golden sunlight and a face that is in life departed.

Lissa gazes softly up at her sister. Emm cups Lissa's cheeks in her hands.

_"Dry your tears, love. This is not goodbye."_

And Lissa wakes up.

Lissa is surprised her body moves at all. The ice sinks down into her clothes, biting her skin. She had been comfortable mere hours ago, she feels, in a sumptuous cloak that enveloped her body, as she hunkered down close to her horse's neck --

Her horse! Is he gone -- is he completely gone away --

Lissa looks around, her body clammy and stiff, begging her to lay back down. But if she does that, she knows she will die in this expanse of whiteness, where sun ever beams down on glittering snow but nothing ever melts.

Chrom. She needs to find Chrom! Lissa gets onto her feet. She can't do this without him. She needs him, Maribelle, Robin -- somebody -- anybody!

Lissa has only her staff. She just now notices it still laying in her arms -- but she can't use it on herself. She has some vulnerary -- but she should save that, for after she's fought off the frost, just in case she _can._ If she took it now, then it would only help for a little while.

Lissa forces her trembling legs to move directionlessly through the land of crunching sleet and melting slush. What manner of badlands are these?

Lissa clings tighter to her staff, little as it contributes to her solo survival. It doth be her only possession, her only thing akin to a weapon.

"Chestnut!" she calls, doing a quick horse-whistle. No response meets her.

Lissa lets out a grumbling sigh. Maybe she'll feel better -- wait -- are those voices? Lissa stays her footsteps, listening in --

"And anyways, I'm saying -- Plegia's prices are better anyways."

"But what if we're caught? And- and if Plegia wins the war, it hurts _us_ \-- you have a family! You should be thinking of them!"

"They need this money to live. We sell to the highest bidder. End of discussion."

"But—Regna Ferox would be much safer!”

"The safest thing is to get as much money as possible! And anyways, it's not like we're selling enough to really make a difference in this war."

The voices are young but gruff. Lissa's chest tightens. She's heard enough.

Lissa turns and seeks to trace her footsteps. Her body is finally growing warm, she finds.

There is a pause in the distant voices -- and Lissa thinks she hears a harried argument of whispers. Lissa quickens her steps. She's going to--

A colorless blur whizzes past her ear.

Lissa's stomach drops.

A burst of laughter echoes from behind her.

Slowly, Lissa looks back, and beholds a sallow-faced ruffian.

"Easily frightened, she is!" guffaws he, as he lowers his drawn bow -- "now _this _is easy prey. Hold tight, lassie -- or we'll pierce your ears for ye! Hyeh heh!"

"No!" Lissa squeals, holding her staff out before her face -- "please-- I'm just a traveler! You don't want me, I, I--"

"You what, don’t taste good? Don't worry, little cleric girl -- I'm sure whatever benevolent army you belong to will pay good coin to have you back." The ruffian winks, as his arrow-tip again points itself in the direction of Lissa's face -- "you're not gonna run away, are you? You’d wind up shot badly, like some escaping deer – and if'n you did that, we'd have to go after you and put you out of your misery!"

Steps forth a second ruffian, one of sturdier complexion. He steps forward beside his comrade, his glare firm, as he draws his shortsword. "He means if you cooperate, we won’t hurt you. We don’t agree on much, but I think the safest thing for you is to do as he says.”

"I'm not stupid!" Lissa snaps. "I understand your lot when I hear them. I've heard enough vulgar insults!"

"Hold your temper," says the second, crossing his arms. "Else you tempt my heartless companion!”

Lissa realizes he’s right.

She lowers her head and her staff, and begins to take steps forward, submitting as the archer lowers his weapon. Cold fingers wrap over her shoulder.

"That's right," he hisses. "Come with the wolves, little lamb."

They have a campfire, at least.

Lissa refuses at first to say her name or what family she belongs to. She knows that to be foolhardy. Truly, it is a stroke of luck that they do not recognize her as the remaining princess of Ylisse. But they continue to ask, and she concedes, though what she gives them is a lie. Lissa says she is of the Themis family, which would make her Maribelle's kin, were it true. Perhaps they would bail her out and be keen enough not to give away that she is worth more than these men recognize.

The ruffians stop bothering Lissa and begin to banter. Politics, loot, and their cargo of two crates of weapons and one allegedly noble girl.

"Now," the predatorial ruffian growls, "you sure you're not inflating your status, lassie? 'Cause this will be a whole lot more trouble for you if you are. This makes you no safer.”

"I'm sure," Lissa says, her cheeks flushed an amber color.

Lissa has picked this one's name up as Arnold. Arnold grins, rubbing the palms of his hands together, his eyes drawing up thin -- "You know-- Benson-- if we wanted to, we could--"

"Arnold, please," says Benson, leveling a firm glare at his partner, just as Lissa's blood runs cold. "Even we are not that level of scum."

Lissa is not assured. Her heart continues to run a quick pitter-patter.

"So, you can use that thing?" Benson says, nodding to Lissa's staff. "So... if we got each other beat up, say, if we were sparring, experimenting with different weapons... you could patch us up?"

Lissa giggles. "I could!" she says.

"Or she couldn't," Arnold hisses. "She can't trust us, and we can't trust her."

"Please," Benson says. "She trusts us enough to not hurt her, as long as she cooperates. This is why we shouldn't frighten her."

Arnold huffs, and Lissa senses his reluctance.

So that is why she lay awake long into the night, her eyes open and staring at the roof of the tent.

She lay between the two of them. She knows them all to be clothed, and at Benson's insistence, the ruffians lay atop the sheets, while Lissa lay beneath -- but none of it helps. Lissa's limbs are tight. She feels penned in, wrapped up, pinned down -- she knows nothing to be happening to her, but still -- if she slept, would something bad happen?

At some point one of them had mentioned a storm coming -- and now Lissa hears a wild howling of wind, and she wonders if it would tear the tent walls away. But Lissa thinks she would prefer the weather, to what grizzly conditions she must endure here --

Arnold snores, and mutters in his sleep -- and faintly, one of his bony arms grasps Lissa.

Lissa is as tight as a bowstring but still as a corpse. Her own feet feel like limp weights in the boots she hasn't taken off. She is limp, she is scandalized, she is nothing -- oh, how she longs for the tent she shares with Sumia and Maribelle, as they get down to pajamas and are still comfortable for each other. The space is not cramped, and the air feels warm and safe. How warm that tent would feel, even in the coldest of conditions, Lissa now realizes, in comparison to being held captive by ruffian men – if only she were _there_ \--

"Who's there?"

Lissa realizes she finally fallen asleep. Now she cracks open an eye at Benson's concern.

"There can’t be anyone there! You hear that-- it's a storm!"

"No," Benson hisses, beneath howling wind, in the space between what Lissa now hears too -- steady, sure footsteps from outside. "There is something. Someone -- you hear that! That is a person --"

Arnold sits up -- and Lissa sees that he too is alert. He hears it.

"Don't worry," Benson says. "Whoever it is, he's outnumbered. You're our charge, we'll protect you -- and you'll heal us. We won't let you be stolen from us--"

Lissa shivers, yet strangely, his voice is reassuring. She imagines a worse ruffian. She imagines an Arnold, but without a Benson to give him restraint.

The footsteps grow ever close. Right outside the tent, they stop. Benson is stooped by the door, and he tensely holds his shortsword upright. Arnold kneels, his bow drawn in the same direction.

The tent flap is opened and the storm rolls inside.

Lissa screams.

Warmth of her predators negated by heavy white frost --

The shrill shriek of an arrow. Tt does not lodge itself in flesh, but hisses into the empty sky beyond.

Benson's arms are around Lissa's neck and chest.

Arnold backs up and away, and Lissa sees his snarl turn to a cowering fear, as he begs, pleads, belligerently, unintelligibly, to no avail --

Benson growls, "If you do anything, I'll hurt her!"

The air is crushed from Lissa’s lungs. Her face goes flush -- he's lying. She fears Benson in another way, but he's lying --

A cowled stranger sayeth, "Unhand her,” as he steps inside and lowers his sword to Arnold’s face.

Lissa gasps. That voice--!

He says, “Let her go, and you may live.”

Lissa sees it -- and like she felt less cold when she began to focus on her survival, she feels less afraid once she settles her gaze upon that golden blade. She recognizes that sword anywhere – the one supposedly belonging to Chrom alone, yet she knows that it is inexplicably also wielded by--

Thick, androgynous deadpanning. "This is my last warning. Unhand her now."

Benson's arms go loose around Lissa's neck, and Lissa rises in a single motion. She is enchanted as though in a _good _dream. As her body moves, her gaze is locked on Marth's hood, and she sees hidden there the stern slits of the mask, and she knows that she is safe.

"Come," Marth says. "Let's get away from here."

Marth turns, and Lissa follows close at hand. Lissa has her staff -- this is it -- they're leaving. Can Marth take her back to Chrom?

Lissa hears a snicker from far behind.

A voice hisses, “Arnold!”

Lissa shouts, “MARTH!”

The words have left her mouth and Marth is around her. Lissa is lost in tight muscles and swirling midnight cloak, as Marth pushes her to the ground --

Marth lets out a howling yell.

"Let's go!" he yells, back on his feet -- "let's go, go, go!"

They zigzag out of the clearing.

Two more arrows fly after them. One clips Marth's pauldron. Another neatly zooms past Lissa's head. But then, it has finished.

Some fifteen minutes is past.

Lissa is breathless. They kneel at a frozen creek where a dead willow droops low.

"Lissa," Marth says, cradling his one arm. "Are you alright?"

Lissa frowns, and she asks, "Are you?"

Marth uncovers his forearm to reveal an arrow lodged there. Blood trickles out, smearing across his torn sleeve.

Lissa goes tense but doesn't faint. She's seen enough blood to fear it no longer. She casts a radiant glow from her staff, and Marth's relief is audible. He finally lets loose his held breath, beginning to pant normally.

When some minutes have passed, he gives Lissa a solitary nod, and the two set off into the night, with an unspoken agreement. Lissa’s fate is in the hands of a person who, even as little as she knows, trusts only to do good.


	3. Empathy

Lissa wakes up in peaceful sunlight. Her fresh grief is dulled by renewed interest in something she'd briefly forgotten. In those weeks between the attempted assassination and the completed public execution of Emmeryn, Lissa had wondered little of Marth.

"Marth," Lissa states, rising from the grass where she had slept. They are by a clearing with a moss-addled tree and babbling brook. Lissa had been surprised that the landscape should so quickly grow verdant and habitable. She has many questions, really -- but she is unsure where to look for answers as to where they are and what's going on.

"Yes?" Marth states quickly.

It appears that he had been already awake. He stoops upon one knee, surveying the area around them closely -- Lissa wonders if he'd rested his gaze upon her sleeping form. Lissa blushes slightly.

"Marth, I was just wondering... where are we? What are we doing -- where will you take me next?"

"I will take you nowhere you do not wish to go," Marth says. "I will attempt to return you to the rest of your company."

Lissa had hoped that much. She nods, happier they are more than incidental travelling companions. "It is an honor, Marth."

"Honor?" Marth utters. "I am not the princess, milady. You are."

The grogginess of sleep dissolves under Marth's words. Lissa sits up straighter, removing her cloak from her body in this new, warmer weather. "I appreciate it all the same. Hey, Marth -- I know it's not exactly the best circumstances -- but I think we can have fun getting to know each other anyways. It'll take at least a day's walk to get back to where I fell, right?"

Marth bites his lip. Lissa sees him thumb at the base of his cape.

"About that. We cannot return from where you fell -- the climb would be impossibly steep. Milady, beg my pardon, but -- it appeared as though you had jumped from that high point. What drove you to make such a move?"

Lissa grumbles. "You're not going to believe me."

"..."

Lissa startles. What was that? !

She recognizes it. Marth has a certain way about him -- what is it -- an audible ellipses, that's it! A special kind of silence, indicating an answer without giving anything at all --

It occurs to Lissa that she has heard more from him now than in all of their previous encounters combined.

"Some really smart Risen," Lissa says, "and a wyvern that I think was controlling them. Yeah. I-- I swear, that's what I saw."

"Is it?"

"Yes," Lissa says, impatient.

"Hmm."

"Do you believe me?"

"I believe you. Come on, then -- we're seeking another way out of this valley."

"Wait, what -- Marth! We're going in the opposite direction!"

"Yes. I have read a map and know the lay of the land -- our journey shall be much longer than a day's jaunt, I am afraid."

"Then how long WILL it be?"

"I cannot say," Marth says, and that is all she hears from him for some time.

In the deafening wave of Marth's utter silence, Lissa's mind again turns to darkness -- the darkness that comes from the absence of light. Memories of her sister, of childhood -- and too, of her brother and the very recent past, and the frustration that she has not even his shoulder to reach for. This longing, this nostalgia: it hurts more than a physical wound or even the presence of discernible pain, any kind of it, ever could.

The day is not so desolate when she looks outwards. She rests more than she was able to with the army. The sun spills down supremely. The way is easy, and together, they find fruit that they both know to be edible.

Yet still, over this, Marth says barely a thing.

At midday, Lissa lay her cloak down on the grass, delicately raises her skirt off the ground, and carefully sits. And as she eats from a cluster of grapes, her eyes wander upwards -- to where Marth is, perched on an overlooking grey boulder, one leg folded and the other stretched out, navy pauldrons shining in the summer warmth. Even as he eats, his masked gaze is fixed firmly on the distant horizon, and Lissa wonders what he thinks he will see.

Frustration wears at her skin. She is accustomed to the thick lines and banter of her many comrades.

She rode astride many, in the cavalry -- the gallant hoof-steps of Sumia and Cordelia's pegasae, which danced just over the ground -- the heavy, earth-bound stocky legs of Sully and Stahl's mares -- and do not forget the newest addition, the snapping fury of Minerva, a certain somebody's wyvern -- all these beasts, and yet, none so wacky as their riders! Glib banter of good friends, punctuated by Maribelle's occasional disdain; Frederick's enduring stoicism; and Chrom and Robin, and other warriors who followed along by foot -- oh but those two, that general and tactitian who behold each other with sincere fondness.

The marches may have been harder but Lissa longs for them already. Around Marth, she feels as though she cannot even air a complaint. And it's frustrated Lissa -- so much, that she has decided she will attempt a workaround, as stiff as it feels --

"So, Marth," Lissa says. "I-- I know you don't really respond to people prying--"

Marth tenses. Lissa sees it, in the clenching of his fingers -- is that one hand, reaching for his sword? No, he _wouldn't_ –

Lissa tries to reason with herself. Is it some sort of reflex? Battle hostility directed towards things that are not true threats?

"I'd like to talk about what's going on," Lissa says. "If you know anything."

"I don't," Marth says. "This is... a surprise, to me."

"Well then," Lissa says, "let's talk about something else -- how did you even find me?"

"..."

_Again!_

Lissa's eyes widen. How dare he? "Aw, come on! I want an answer to my question --"

"I followed you," Marth says. "I followed your army. I tracked where you became separated."

"Oh," Lissa says. "And... how long have you been following us?"

"...For as long as you have known me."

Lissa remembers that night. The night of the blue portal and first Risen. The night she was saved by this man of mystery and his parallel Falchion.

Lissa says, "Why not just join us?"

"I can't."

"--Why?"

"Milady, please -- stop asking me questions."

Lissa shuts up.

Later something happens.

Lissa has still been feeling unwell. More like irritable -- the sudden isolation that comes along with this, and the perpetual feeling of always tailing behind Marth. She thought this would be a dream -- a chance to know better somebody she's always been grateful towards. A chance to say thanks. But now, she doesn't feel comfortable saying it -- why bother, when all the things she's said so far have been lost to the wind? She should save her care and compassion for somebody else. Marth doesn't need her. He doesn't even want her. He is a man with duties to fill -- she is nothing but his current burden.

"Okay, Lissa. We've been walking for awhile. It is time for me to go on alone."

"What?!"

"I am not leaving you. There's just something ahead I need to take care of. It is too dangerous for you to come along. I will see you in an hour, okay?"

"What if-- if it's dangerous, what if _you_ get hurt?"

Marth softly shakes his head. "I do not intend on being seen," he says.

"Only an hour?" Lissa says.

"Correct."

That's enough.

Lissa sits down in the shelter of a crumbling stone corner, and does her best to keep from following, as Marth disappears into the trees.

Lissa does her best.

She supposes she makes it twelve minutes.

Marth is so static and statuesque, even when he doesn't know Lissa is there. He lurks and inspects outcroppings of rocks, passing between two cliffs, and the scars sunken into crumbling earth. He reaches one hand up to investigate a ledge, but his other hand is hovered eternally over the hilt of his sword --

Lissa sneezes.

Falchion is in Lissa's face. Its point sparkles gold in filtered forest-sun. Lissa blinks, stepping back, raising her palms. Marth's expression fades from a scowl to a disappointed frown.

Lissa lets out a deep breath. Marth kneads his forehead with his finger and his thumb.

"This is awkward," Lissa says.

"We're going back."

"Wait, what! I'm here to help you--"

_"We are going back."_

Marth is storming away. Lissa comes along close behind -- "I want to help you! What were you inspecting--"

"It probably doesn't matter."

"Wait, waitwaitwait -- what if it does?"

He stops. A quiet snarl in his voice.

"I have to choose," he says, "and first I will focus on this mission. Please stop arguing with me.”

"Okay. I'm... I'm sorry, Marth. I still think you're really cool! ...Marth?"

Marth does something new. In his interactions with Lissa, his face had been previously shrouded only by his mask – now, he raises his hood.

"Marth-- Marth, wait--"

"Lissa, please just follow me in-- _LISSA_!"

Talons dig into her sides.

Paint erupts in her flesh.

Her feet leave the ground.

Marth becomes a screaming figure far below as Lissa screams after him.

Lissa has never known such terror. She has never been so certain that she was going to die.

The next few minutes are of throbbing pain and whirling fear, until Lissa's back is thrown against the shelf of a cliff. The talons have released her body, and she opens her eyes to see the pale of the sky and the tail of the wyvern.

The beast looks back at her. It has a head of jagged horns and pebbley growths. It regards her with a cold empty stare.

Lissa's hands tighten, and she realizes, oh! She still has her staff.

Yelping and yipping. Lissa's head bobs up. That--

Oh. Is that why it hasn't killed her yet?

There is a wyvern whelp. It paces the ground anxiously -- its guardian stills it, and nudges at it to stay back.

A jolt runs down Lissa's spine. Is it telling the whelp to wait for dinner? Or does this thing perceive Lissa as still a threat, and wishes to kill her itself?

Lissa realizes she's waiting. She's waiting, for the continuation of a pattern -- she's waiting for Marth to swoop in to save her.

But he can't take this much, can he? Lissa is in the wyverns' roost now. And Marth is just one person far below.

Lissa closes her eyes. He _will _come save her. If he’s invested this much in her, he’s coming back…

A pitiful yelp at her heels. Lissa opens her eyes.

The wyvern child is wounded.

_Oh._

She’s healed beasts before. She mends the tears in the young muscle, and the small, stumpy creature barks appreciatively.

“What hurt you?” Lissa asks, just as a great shadow is cast over her

Lissa looks up. The wyvern mother has extended its wings. It now shields both its child and Lissa. Lissa cannot even see the sky.

“You knew I could heal it,” Lissa muses, holding her staff tightly.

No response.

“Well,” Lissa says, edging out of way of the great creature. “I… I’m glad you’re not hostile, and now that I’ve done what you asked of me, I’d like to—”

_WHAM!_

An armored tail slams into Lissa’s chest. She is swept onto her rear, and the wyvern mother huddles closer around her.

There is a great shrieking echoing from far above.

Lissa’s heart stops.

But there is an opening, now that the wyvern’s attention is focused elsewhere.

Lissa breaks for it.

Lissa is running, stumbling down a slope, until-- there.

She slips. She was going to, she knew, but the catching of her heel on loose pebble came sooner than she anticipated --

She is faintly aware of two wyvern-screeches in the air far above her. Lissa lets out a yowl of terror -- and it is then that she receives that one familiar voice. The only friend she's had these past few days, calling out her name --

Lissa cries back, _“Marth!” _

She is fully ready for the company of a human, any human, instead of a wyvern --

Rocks cut into Lissa’s hands. Thorns lace upwards over her body -- her momentum stops. She pushes herself upwards, her arms burning with fatigue, her face decorated with bruises.

Marth has finally reached her. Lissa finds herself in his arms.

Lissa's heart flutters as Marth holds her against him, and together they leave the place of clashing dragon-breath and flickering forms of wyverns visible in the sky.

Lissa knows Marth is doing his best.

She cries but only from the pain. Marth sits with her by the stream, cupping water to run over Lissa's arms and legs, and eventually drawing a tight roll of bandages from just inside his boot.

Lissa is surprised. "You always seemed to pack so lightly," she says.

Marth lowers his head as he begins to peel the end away from the roll -- "I'm efficient. I really can't carry much. But this much I know to be essential."

Lissa nods. It's good to talk about something trivial. It unravels some of the mystery. It makes her feel like -- well, like Marth could really be a friend.

“You say these wyverns had intelligent behavior,” Marth states. “One of them… kidnapped you…”

“Knowing I could heal its child. Yeah. I’m still hoping – I hope that one made it out alright. Is… is it okay if I feel bad about just ditching?”

Marth startles.

“Milady,” he says, “let us leave to wyverns the disputes of wyverns.”

Lissa nods. She has too many other things to focus on. But her mind is soon spiked by something else that upsets her.

"I'm such an idiot," Lissa says, her gaze lowered to the stream.

Marth had just been holding a bandage over Lissa's leg. He freezes.

"No," he says, a quiver of anger in his voice. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that!”

Lissa’s brows knit together. “All you did was tell me to stay for an hour, and I couldn’t even do _that_ much.”

“_I’m_ the one who left you. Went off an a fool’s errand, a doomed hunch. _I_ could have gotten hurt had I gone farther into that situation. Milady, you need not lose sleep over this.”

Lissa blinks. Marth sounds _distressed_ – he is finally talking more, and it’s because –

_He doesn’t want me to feel bad._

Lissa takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says. “But, one more time… I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

She sees Marth place a hand to his forehead in contemplation.

“You have nothing to go on,” he says. “It is a fool’s ability to be able to trust me.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve saved me and Chrom. And Emm, even if… even if it didn’t take.”

She hears an exasperated huff.

“Marth!” Lissa says, reaching forward to him. “I’m sorry – that came out wrong – it _isn’t_ your fault—”

“It might be.”

“Marth,” Lissa says, “Do you know who Robin is?”

“The Tactician of the Shepherds?”

“Yeah. She’s with Chrom all the time… anyways, she blames herself for what happened to Emmeryn. Says she should have made a better strategy – worries about it all the time. But the fact is… I don’t blame her, and I definitely don’t blame you. So you should forgive yourself, okay?”

“…”

Marth looks up.

And, carefully, he bandages the rest of Lissa’s wounds.

Lissa is appreciative, and thanks him quietly. She doesn’t want to upset Marth any more than today already has.

But Marth isn’t done with her. As he pulls Lissa to her feet, he says, “I wish for you to trust me.”

Lissa perks up. What does he mean…?

“Tell me,” Marth says, “what way I have to prove myself accountable.”

Lissa tilts her head. She could just promise she won’t doubt him again… that would keep them _both_ safer.

But Lissa has already doubted him once.

And then Lissa thinks of how the day has been. What she _really_ spent most of it trying to do.

She says, warmly, sincerely: “I want to know more about you.”

Marth splutters.

Lissa catches him. “Now I know you have your secrets! And… maybe you can’t tell me much. But that’s not what I’m asking. You ask me how can I trust you better… and I just need to know _something. _Anything. It doesn’t matter how insignificant it is, I… I just want to know something that… well, that reminds me you’re human, and not just some hero who shows up to save me from bad situations. You’re very noble – but I’m sure there’s more to you than that.”

She sees Marth’s face go flush, just before he turns away.

Lissa feels her stomach sink. Is even that too much?

“Wait,” Lissa says. “I mean it—it can be really insignificant. Just tell me your favorite food. Really. That’s all I need to—”

_“Heh.”_

Lissa’s heart leaps into her throat.

She’s never seen Marth _smile_ before!

Lissa gawks, as Marth gives her that mysterious beam. What does it mean?! Why does it look _menacing _– is that only because of the mask? She—

_Oh._

“You ask me for little,” Marth says, lifting up the corners of the mask, voice rising in pitch _(waitaminute)_ \-- “So I will give you a lot.”

Lissa’s breath catches in her throat.

_Oh._

_My. _

_Gosh._

“Marth,” Lissa says, breathless, “you’re so… BEAUTIFUL!!”

Marth flips her hair over one shoulder. Was the mask holding it back? How does that even work?!

Lissa feels a dozen emotions flutter in her stomach. Marth is beautiful, but uh… so much for her crush. But Lissa doesn’t care – she’s not that shallow. And there’s a lot she likes about Marth – she would be glad to have her as a friend now!

Marth’s smile is frozen with dignity, but Lissa sees stiff shoulders, and cheeks that start to go flush. _So she isn’t used to being without it…_

“Are… are you shy?” Lissa asks hesitantly, sincerely.

Marth quickly looks away. “No, I… well, okay. So maybe, under the circumstances. It’s… easier for me to have a disguise.”

“Oh. You can put it back on then, if you like.”

Marth takes a deep breath. “Maybe. But it’s… been awhile, since I’ve been like this.”

Lissa feels like she is witnessing Marth’s entire soul.

“I’ll keep your secret,” Lissa says smugly, crossing her arms and reclining back against a tree.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” Lissa says earnestly. “It’s the _least _I could do… honestly, wow. I—I didn’t expect you to have any sort of insecurity. But—I trust you now, to know you’re like me.”

“…Like you?” Marth says, fixating back upon Lissa.

“Yeah! Someone who—well, someone who struggles.”

Marth looks flabbergasted.

Lissa explains—“I—I’m just a bumbling cleric—there’s a lot of stuff I’m insecure about. I—er—not that I’m calling you insecure—”

“I’ve been anxious,” Marth says, shielding half her face with her hand, as though from the sun. “It’s – oh, gods. I think I need to—”

Marth dips her head, and Lissa sees her quickly doing her hair behind the straps of the mask. Lissa nods understandingly.

Marth looks up, again masked. But when she speaks, her voice remains feminine.

“It’s nice… to finally open up to somebody about a little of it.”


End file.
